


Love in the Time of a Thousand Needles

by colonelborkmundus



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Crack, FF Exchange 2012, Gift Fic, Other, Peyote, cactuar is coming to fuck you in the butt, cactus!kink, dub-con, hurt-comfort (if you squint), incredibad, it's BEAUTERRIOUS! (that is now a word), jk it's not really explicit, no really, oh god what have I done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonelborkmundus/pseuds/colonelborkmundus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locke passes through a Cactuar-infested desert on his way to find the Phoenix Cave and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in the Time of a Thousand Needles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vrazdova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrazdova/gifts).



> Locke/Cactuar. Hurt/comfort, harrowing love story. Any rating fine, feel free to throw in guro/dubcon/cactus!kink but totes not necessary. For art: shoujo sparkles a plus.
> 
> (There was going to be a butter sculpture - but then my significant other baked our last stick into chocolate cookies. Sorry. :/ )
> 
> With thanks to Thene, who helped keep my brain from exploding figuring out what Cactuar sex would be like, and corrected all the drunk. <3

There once was a Cactuar – a very lonely Cactuar who was made fun of by the other Cactuars more times than he could count the needles on his body. They thought the yellow quills at the top of his head were funny looking and not properly Cactuar-like, and reminded him of this frequently. All he longed for was the comforting hand of friendship, and a little love to warm his poor green beating Cactuar heart.

Above all, Cactuar craved contact with humans, a creature he became attracted to after years of not being taken seriously by his own kind. He was getting a little long in the spines, and was approaching the age when Cactuars put down roots and become quiet, stationary Cacti until the end of days. Not once had he attracted the attention of any lady Cactuar and performed the necessary mating ritual that involved two Cactuars of the opposite gender rubbing up against each other from behind in spine on spine action. How he wanted to mate at least once in his pathetic, sorry lifetime before becoming a Cactus!

But it seemed that whenever he attempted to interact with humans, they either came after him with sharp, glittering weapons just to get more battle experience under their belt, or they ran away in the opposite direction for fear he was one of _those_ Cactuars who spat a thousand needles as easily as giving a handshake.

Cactuar was left a final decision – things weren’t looking up _at all_ and he was coming around to the age where he was getting a little long in the spines anyway. He decided to take matters into his own prickly… appendages and find a nice spot of desert where he could put down roots.

Only, that plan wasn’t working out _either._

The brave, lonely, heartbroken Cactuar began his trek across the desert homeland, intending to reach the outskirts facing the nearest beacon of civilization. He hoped that in life as a Cactus he would still be able to observe the humans and dream his little Cactuar thoughts of peace, love, and happiness.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

He was maybe halfway to the outskirts when far out in the distance, he saw a figure that was neither Cactuar or Slagworm in nature. It was more _human_ than anything.

Maybe it was a sign! Maybe there was hope for him yet!

The Human, it seemed, limped heavily in his general direction and looked too worn down to even be in this desert. A Slagworm would probably crush it in no time flat, or trap it in a fierce sandstorm; any other Cactuar would put the sucker out of their misery with a concentrated blast of needles. But the Human appeared too weak to even attract attention from the denizens of the desert.

It fell face first in the hot, desert sand.

Cactuar approached the Human carefully; the Human refused to stir. He cautiously poked at the body. The Human wore belts, too many belts (what even for?); he had dashing good looks (for he was indeed male) and kept his full head of silky hair back in a peculiar bandana (it was silky; Cactuar could tell from the way it kept getting caught on his spines). Slung across his back was a cloth knapsack with the name ‘LOCKE’ messily embroidered on one of the flaps.

This human was the most beautiful creature Cactuar had ever set his hollowed eyes on. He felt himself begin to swell with great, overwhelming feelings of green Cactuar pride and lust; his mouth opened to a wide, shocked oval.

The Cactuar blood-sap of his ancestors running through his Cactuar-y veins spoke of nature and the way things were, it spoke of feelings, all the feelings, and everything he needed to know to continue the line of the Cactuar Nation. This was what he’d been waiting for his entire life. But first things first: he had to help this human. White, bright, healing light illuminated the unconscious wanderer, who let out a feeble groan.

Cactuar peered curiously over the body and gave a it a tentative poke. “ARGHHHH,” said the body.

“Ge-kaaaa!” squeaked Cactuar.

Locke struggled to sit up. “What in the— did you help me?” Cactuar squeaked again, and awkwardly shifted poses. “That’s weird. Cactuars usually attack or run away. But you helped me. You must be special. Thanks.”

“Ge-ka?” Green, sappy tears pooled in his hollowed eyes.

Those were the nicest words Cactuar had ever heard.

Cactuar suddenly mounted this Locke character from behind, and began the sacred mating dance, much to Locke’s surprise.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you even doing?!?”

Locke’s clothing seemed to get in the way of the dance; it caught on Cactuar’s spines and ripped in places. The clothes would have to go; the blood-sap of his ancestors said so. They didn’t feel any good, at any rate. Cactuar allowed himself to stop grinding for the time being, clumsily removed the offending articles – a tremendous feat within itself as he had no thumbs to speak of – and resumed grinding. Locke’s eyes slid to the back of his head as Cactuar thrusted.

Humans rarely came into contact with Cactuar skin; they typically experienced the painful situation of having spines shot out at them. It was therefore little known that worse things than needles lay hidden on that succulent green skin: a thin film of seemingly innocuous slime.

Maybe this was love, or maybe it was just psychotropic alkaloids – but as Locke’s eyes slid back, each thrust of Cactuar’s… hips became more and more pleasurable. Yes, yes, _yes_ , this is what it meant to touch and be touched in return. This, _this_ was what Locke was meant to do, meant to experience, whether he wanted to or not – this desert wasn’t just on the way to the fabled Phoenix’s Cave, wherever that was, this desert was where he was meant to _be_. Every stab of spine on frail flesh confirmed that.

“Oh, oh, OH!”

Cactuar came in a thousand needles. A thousand loving needles, embedding themselves painfully in his skin. Locke fell over face first _again_ in the hot desert sand; Cactuar pulled back with another squeak of “Geka!”

His life dream finally accomplished, Cactuar set down his roots and began his solitary watch over the desert.

 

 


End file.
